This week I’m switching the focus to Kalan—again from a period before the action in Daughter of Blood begins. Like the Malian and Raven scenes, I found it useful for getting my head into the story, but quickly realised that the Daughter story would ramp up more effectively if it rejoined Kalan further along his timeline.

The now standard warning also applies: “All deleted scenes are at “first draft” level only—so very much raw material. Consider yourself duly warned.”

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Deleted Scene 3: Kalan Approaches Port Farewell

Kalan heard the ocean before he saw it, a distant low roar above the drowsy quiet of the Aralorn hills—a quiet that comprised shimmering heat, the constant hum of insects, and the steady clip of their horses’ hooves on the narrow, dusty road. The heralds had taken a back route, one well known to members of their Guild, to avoid the worst of the traffic and choking dust of the main route into Port Farewell. The day was still stifling though, and Kalan let his bay charger follow the line of the heralds’ grays, keeping to whatever shade the folds of the hills and overhanging trees offered. There were not nearly enough trees, he decided, wiping the sweat clear of his eyes, not for this heat. Beside him, Madder snapped at a horse fly, jerking his head against the leading rein as if to demand what a highly trained Emerian warhorse was doing, carrying a pack saddle and plodding through the Aralorn hills with Kalan’s armor and spare weapons on his back.

UK/AU/NZ

“Spelling you with Tercel here, lad,” he said to the roan warhorse, while his gloved hand patted the bay’s neck. “We’ve got a contest of arms to compete in once we reach the Wall of Night, so I can’t afford to have either of you worn down from hard riding.” He knew there would be ships making the sea journey from Port Farewell to Grayharbor, but if he could get passage on a Sea House ship from there to the Derai Wall, then that would spare them all the long road through the Barren Hills. If the Sea House mariners would carry a warrior who was not of their own House.

‘Which is one of the many things I don’t know after being so long away,’ Kalan told himself.

A second fly hummed close and he swatted it away, but the gesture must have caught Jehane Mor’s attention, because she turned in the saddle, her face as dust grimed as his beneath the shade of a traveler’s wide-brimmed leather hat. “We should see the ocean over the next hill.” She mindspoke him, as they had done since leaving Emer—mainly because they could, but also because it kept their conversations private and meant they could ride further apart to avoid the worst of the kicked-up dust.

“My first time,” Kalan said, although both heralds already knew that. He had never been on a ship before either and might have felt nervous about the journey ahead, if he had allowed himself to dwell on it. But his suppressed uncertainty may have colored his thoughts because Jehane Mor spoke again, her mindtone reassuring.

“This is the best time of year for sailing. Even around Grayharbor the weather will be stable.”

And further north, closer to the Wall? Kalan asked himself—because one thing he did remember was that all Sea House ships carried a weatherworker, while others of their kind stood constant watch on the walls of the Sea Keep, alert for the great storms that swept in off the eastern ocean. The stories told in the Temple of Night also said that long exposure to the storms often sent the weatherworkers mad, especially those that sailed with the ships.

The madness would stem from the Swarm’s influence that close to the Wall of Night, Kalan guessed, even if the mountainous barrier and bastion keeps still kept the worst of their enemy’s malignant influence at bay. Except that he couldn’t help remembering the madness that had taken the steward, Nhairin, in Jaransor, and the tales whispered about the great deserts in the south, beyond Ishnapur, and wonder if it really was just the Swarm’s influence.

Madder snapped at another fly, pulling Kalan’s attention back to the road and the scorching day. Sweat darkened the horses’ coats and soaked the backs and underarms of the heralds’ gray shirts as they rode ahead of him. He could feel the cloth sticking to his own back as well and hoped that whatever inn they put up at would have cool, dim rooms and cold beer. There was a Guild House in Port Farewell, as there was in most major cities in the Southern Realms, but Tarathan and Jehane Mor had told him they would stay in an inn, too, since they were traveling in company with him.

“And in the Guild,” Jehane Mor had said that morning, as they were breaking camp, “we observe the protocol of the road: that those who travel in a company do not disband until everyone has taken their separate roads.”

Girvase would have approved, and Raher, too, Kalan thought—with a twinge of regret as he recalled how he had broken their Normarch company when he left Caer Argent. He pushed away his last memory of Jarna as well, with her face turned to the wall so she did not have to watch him leave. Better to think about how much easier having experienced travelers like the heralds to help him find a ship and negotiate passage was going to make things in Port Farewell. Heralds were respected, too, and so far less likely to be cheated than a young knight of Emer, traveling on his own.

A bird sang from one of the roadside trees, on a merry, bell-like note, and although the songster remained invisible, Kalan found its good cheer infectious. He had left close friends and a life he loved behind in Emer, and knew that darkness and danger lay ahead, but right now he was young and strong, and riding through summer in peaceful Aralorn—and very soon now he would see the ocean for the first time. Smiling, he whistled the bright tune back at the bird.”

It “is” a very Derai installment. And I, too, miss the heralds — but back next time, I promise. In fact, I am writing a heralds’ scene right now…the first of what I hope will prove to be several through the course of the story. 😉

"THE HEIR OF NIGHT by Helen Lowe is a richly told tale of strange magic, dark treachery and conflicting loyalties, set in a well realized world."--Robin Hobb

Thornspell

Jacket art by Antonio Javier Caparo

Thornspell is my first novel and is published by Knopf (Random House Children's Books, USA). It won the Sir Julius Vogel Award 2009 for Best Novel: Young Adult and was a Storylines Childrens' Literature Trust Notable Book 2009.